They materialized on Hybras, inside the crater itself. Their arrival was accompanied by a flash of displaced energy. The group lay on the soot-blackened slopes, panting and steaming. The ground beneath them was warm to the touch, and the acrid stink of sulphur stung their nostrils. The euphoria of materialization soon dissipated.
Artemis breathed experimentally, the air from his mouth blowing up small dust eddies. Volcanic gas made his eyes water, and flat flakes of ash instantly coated every exposed patch of skin.
“This could be hell,” he commented.
“Hell or Hybras,” said No1, climbing to his knees. “I got some of this ash on a tunic before. It never comes out.”
Holly was up, too, running a system’s check on her equipment.
“My Neutrino is fine. But I can’t get a lock on a communications signal. We’re on our own. And I seem to have lost the bomb.”
Artemis knelt, his knees cracking through the ash crust, releasing the heat below. He glanced at his watch and caught sight of his own face. His hair was gray with ash, and for a second he thought he was looking at his father.
A thought struck him. I look like my father, a father I may never see again. Mother. Butler. I have only one friend left.
“Holly,” he said. “Let me look at you.”
Holly did not look up from her wrist computer.
“No time right now, Artemis.”
Artemis padded across to her, walking gingerly on the thin crust.
“Holly, let me look at you,” he said again, holding her shoulders.
Something in Artemis’s voice made Holly stop what she was doing and pay attention. This was not a tone Artemis Fowl used very often. It could almost classify as tenderness.
“I just need to make sure you’re still you. Things get mixed up between dimensions. On my last trip I switched fingers.”
He held up his hand for her to see. “Strange, I know. But you seem to be fine. All present and correct.”
Something flashed in the corner of Artemis’s eye. There was a metal case half buried in the ash farther up the crater wall.
“The bomb,” sighed Artemis. “I thought we’d lost it in transit. There was a flash when we landed.”
Qwan hurried across to the bomb. “No. That was energy displacement. Mostly mine. Magic is almost another being. It flows where it will. Some of mine did not flow back to me in time, and ignited on reentry. I am happy to say that the rest of my power is fired up and ready to go.”
Artemis was struck by how much of this prehistoric being’s language was similar to NASA jargon. No wonder we don’t have a chance against the fairies, he thought. They were solving dimensional equations when we were still knocking stones together.
Artemis helped the warlock heave the bomb from the ash’s grip. The timer had been knocked for a loop by the time-jump and now read more than five thousand hours. Finally, a stroke of luck.
Artemis used Butler’s picks to examine the bomb’s workings. Maybe he could disarm it if he had a few months, a couple of computers, and some laser tools. Without those things, there was about as much chance of him disarming this weapon as there was of a squirrel making a paper airplane.
“This bomb is perfectly operational,” he said to Qwan. “Only the timer was affected.”
The warlock stroked his beard. “That makes sense. That instrument is relatively simple, compared to the complexity of our bodies. The dimension tunnel would have no trouble reassembling it. The timer is another matter. It will be affected by any time flares we run across here. It could blow at any second, or never.”
Not never, thought Artemis. I may not be able to disarm this thing, but I can certainly blow it when I need to.
Holly peered at the deadly device. “Is there any way we can dispose of it?”
Qwan shook his head. “Inanimate objects cannot travel unaccompanied in the time tunnel. We, on the other hand, could get sucked back in at any moment. We need to get some silver on us immediately.”
Holly glanced at Artemis. “Maybe some of us want to get sucked back in.”
“Maybe you do,” said Qwan. “But only under certain conditions. If you just let yourselves go, who knows where you’ll end up. Or when. Your natural space and time will attract you, but with the spell deteriorating, you could arrive encased in rock a mile below the surface, or stranded on the moon.”
This was a sobering thought. It was one thing to have a quick tourist’s look at the surface of the moon. It was quite another to be stuck there forever. Not that you would know anything about it after the first minute.
“So we’re stuck here?” said Holly. “Come on, Artemis. You have a plan. You always have a plan.”
The others gathered around Artemis. There was something about him that always made people assume that he was the leader. Perhaps it was the way he assumed it himself. Also, in this instance, he was the tallest person in the group.
He smiled briefly. So this is how Butler feels all the time.
“We all have our reasons for wanting to go back,” he began. “Holly and I have left friends and family behind who we would dearly love to see again. No1 and Qwan, you need to get your people out of this dimension. The spell is unraveling, and soon nowhere on this island will be safe. If my calculations are correct, and I feel certain that they are, then not even silver can anchor you here for much longer. Now, you can go when the spell dictates, or we can decide when to make the jump.”
Qwan did his sums in his head. “Not possible. It took seven warlocks and a volcano to move the island here. To get us back I would need seven magical beings. Warlocks, preferably. And of course, a live volcano, which we don’t have.”
“Does it have to be a volcano? Wouldn’t any energy source do?”
“Theoretically,” agreed Qwan. “So you’re saying we could use the bomb?”
“It’s possible.”
“Highly unlikely, but possible. I still need seven magical beings.”
“But the spell is already cast,” argued Artemis. “The infrastructure is there. Couldn’t you do it with fewer?”
Qwan wagged a finger at Artemis. “You are a smart Mud Boy. Yes, maybe I could do it with fewer. Of course, we would not know until we arrived.”
“How many?”
“Five. Five at the absolute least.”
Holly ground her teeth. “We have only three, and No1’s a novice. So we need to find two demons with magic on this island.”
“Impossible,” snapped Qwan. “Once an imp warps, that’s the end of any magic they might have. Only warlocks, like myself and No1, do not warp. So we keep our magic.”
Artemis brushed ash from his jacket.
“Our first priority is to get out of this crater and find some silver. I suggest we leave the bomb here. The temperature is not enough to ignite it, and if it does explode, the volcano will absorb some of the force. If we are going to find some other magical creature, we will undoubtedly have a better chance outside this crater. At any rate, the sulfur is giving me a headache.”
Artemis did not wait for an agreement. He turned and made for the crater lip. After a moment, the others followed, struggling with each footfall through the crust of ash. It reminded Artemis of a giant sand dune he’d trudged up with his father once. Here, falling would have harsher consequences.
It was a difficult and treacherous hike. The ash concealed grooves in the rock and small crevasses that vented warm air from the volcano. Colorful fungi grew in clusters around these vents, and they glowed in the crater shadows like coral night-lights.
Nobody spoke much during the climb. No1 muttered his way through large tracts of the dictionary, but the others realized that this was his way of keeping his chin up.
Artemis glanced upward occasionally. The sky was dawn-red, and glowed above him like a lake of blood.
That’s a cheery metaphor, thought Artemis. Maybe it says something about my character that a lake of blood is the only image I can come up with.
No1’s build
was best suited for the steep climb. He had a low center of gravity, and could rest on his stumpy tail if need be. His thick feet anchored him securely, and armored plates covering his body protected him from sparks or bruising in the event of a fall.
Qwan was clearly suffering. The old warlock had been a statue for the past ten thousand years and was still working the kinks out of his bones. Magic soothed the process somewhat, but even magic could not completely erase the pain. He winced each time his foot punctured the soot crust.
Finally the group reached the summit. If time had passed, it was impossible to tell how much. The sky still had the same red tinge, and all timepieces had virtually stopped.
Holly jogged ahead the last few steps, then raised her right hand, fingers closed in a fist.
“That means halt,” Artemis told the others. “It’s a military thing. Human soldiers use the exact same sign.”
Holly poked her head above the rim for a moment, then returned to the group.
“What does it mean if there are a lot of demons on their way up the mountain?”
Qwan smiled. “It means our brother demons saw the flash of our arrival and are coming to greet us.”
“And what does it mean if they are all armed with crossbows?”
“Hmm,” mused Qwan. “That could be a touch more serious.”
“How bad can they be?” asked Artemis. “We’ve faced trolls together.”
“It’s fine,” said Holly, powering up her handgun. “They’re not so big. We’re going to be fine. Really.”
Artemis frowned. Holly only bothered reassuring him when they were in deep trouble.
“That bad?” he said.
Holly whistled, shaking her head. “You have no idea.”
CHAPTER 14
LEADER OF THE PACK
The Island of Hybras
While Artemis and company had been zooming around the time tunnel, Leon Abbot had been in council with the pride elders. Council was where all the big decisions got made, or more accurately, where Abbot made all the big decisions. The others thought they were participating, but Leon Abbot had a way of bringing them around to his way of thinking.
If only they knew, he thought, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent a smug grin spreading across his face. They would eat me alive. But they can never know, because there is nobody left alive to tell them. That dolt No1 was the last, and he’s gone. What a pity.
Abbot had something big planned for today. A big departure for the pride, the dawn of a new era. The Leon Abbot era.
He looked down the table at his fellow demons sucking the bones from a bucket of recently live rabbits that he had laid on for the meeting. He despised the other council members. Every one. They were weak, stupid creatures, ruled by their baser appetites. What they needed was leadership. No arguments, no debates, just his word as law, and that was that.
Of course, under normal circumstances, the other demons might not share his vision of the future. In fact, if he suggested it, then they would most likely do to him what they were currently doing to the rabbits. But these were not normal circumstances. He had certain advantages when it came to negotiating with the council.
At the far end of the table, Hadley Shrivelington Basset, a recent addition to the council, stood and growled loudly. The signal that he wished to speak. In truth, Basset worried Abbot slightly. He was proving a little resistant to Abbot’s regular powers of persuasion, and some of the others were beginning to listen to him. Basset would have to be handled soon.
Basset growled again, cupping both hands around his mouth to ensure that his words traveled to the head of the table.
“I would speak, Leon Abbot. I would have you listen.”
Abbot sighed wearily, waving at the demon to go ahead. The young ones certainly loved their formality.
“Things are happening that worry me, Abbot. Things are not as they should be with the pride.”
There were murmurs of assent from around the table. Not to worry. The others would soon change their tune.
“We are known by human names. We worship a human book. I find this sickening. Are we to become human altogether?”
“I have explained this, Basset. Perhaps a million times. Are you so dull-witted that my words do not penetrate your skull?”
Basset growled low in his throat. These were fighting words. And pride leader or not, Abbot would soon find those words rammed down his throat.
“Let me try one more time,” continued Abbot, plonking his boots on the table, a further insult to Basset. “We learn the human ways so we can better understand them, and so more easily defeat them. We read the book, we practice with the crossbow, we bear the names.”
Basset would not be cowed. “I have heard these words a million times, and each time they seem ridiculous to me. We do not give each other rabbit names when we hunt rabbit. We do not live in foxholes to hunt the fox. We can learn from the book and the bow, but we are demon, not human. My family name was Gristle. Now that’s a real demon name! Not this stupid Hadley Shrivelington Basset.”
It was a good argument, and well presented. Maybe in different circumstances Abbot would have applauded and recruited the young demon as a lieutenant, but lieutenants grew up to be challengers, and that was one thing Abbot did not want.
Abbot stood and walked slowly down the length of the table, gazing into the eyes of each council member in turn. At first their eyes blazed with defiance, but as Abbot began to speak, this fire faded, to be replaced by a dull sheen of obedience.
“You are right, of course,” said Abbot, running a talon along one curved horn. An arc of sparks followed the path of his nail. “Everything you say is exactly right. The names, that ridiculous book, the crossbow. Learning the language of English. It’s all a joke.”
Basset’s lips curled back over pointed white teeth, and his tawny eyes narrowed. “You admit this, Abbot?” He addressed the council, “You hear him admit it?”
Before, the others had grunted their approval of the young buck’s challenge, but now it was as if the fight had gone out of them. All they could do was stare at the table, as if the answers to life’s questions were etched into the wood grain.
“The truth is, Basset,” continued Abbot, drawing ever nearer. “That we’re never going back home. This is our home now.”
“But you said . . .”
“I know. I said that the spell would end, and we would be sucked back to where we came from. And who knows, it may even be true. But I have no idea what will actually happen. All I know is that for as long as we are here, I intend to be in charge.”
Basset was stunned. “There will be no great battle? But we’ve been training for so long.”
“Distraction,” said Abbot, waving his fingers like a magician. “Smoke and spells. It gave the troops something to concentrate on.”
“To what on?” asked Basset, puzzled.
“Concentrate, you moron. Think about. As long as there’s a war to be planned, demons are happy. I provided the war, and I showed them how to win. So, naturally, I am a savior.”
“You gave us the crossbow.”
Abbot had to stop and laugh. This Basset really was a prize fool. He could almost pass for a gnome.
“The crossbow,” he panted at last, when his mirth had petered away.“The crossbow! The Mud Men have weapons that shoot death. They have iron birds that fly, dropping exploding eggs. And there are millions of them. Millions! All they would have to do is drop one egg on our little island and we would disappear. And this time, there would be no coming back.”
Basset did not know whether to attack or flee. All these revelations were hurting his brain, and all the other council members could do was sit there drooling. It was almost as if they were under a spell. . . .
“Come on,” said Abbot mockingly. “You’re getting there. Wring out that sponge of a brain.”
“You have bewitched the council.”
“Full marks!” crowed Abbot. “Give that demon a raw rabbit!” br />
“B . . . But that can’t be,” stammered Basset. “Demons are not magical creatures, except the warlocks. And warlocks do not warp.”
Abbot spread his arms wide. “And I am so obviously a magnificently warped creature. Does your brain hurt? Is this all too much for you, Basset?”
Basset pulled a long sword from its scabbard. “My name is Gristle!” he roared, lunging at the pride leader.
Abbot batted the blade aside with his forearm, then pounced on his opponent. Abbot may have been a liar and a manipulator, but he was also a fearsome warrior. Basset may as well have been a dove attacking an eagle.
Abbot drove the smaller demon to the stone floor, then squatted on his chest, ignoring the blows Basset drove into his armored plates.
“Is that the best you can do, little one? I have had better tumbles with my dog.”
He grabbed Basset’s head between his hands and squeezed until the younger demon’s eyes bulged.
“Now, I could kill you,” said Abbot, the thought giving him obvious pleasure, “but you are a popular buck among the imps, and they would pester me with questions. So I will let you live. After a fashion. Your free will shall belong to me.”
Basset shouldn’t have been able to speak, but he managed to moan one word. “Never.”
Abbot squeezed harder.
“Never? Never, you say? But don’t you know that never comes quickly here in Hybras.”
Then Abbot did what no warped demon should be able to do: he summoned magic from inside himself and let it shine through his eyes.
“You are mine,” he said to Basset, his voice irresistible, layered with magic.
The others were so conditioned to the mesmer that they succumbed to just a tinge of it in his voice, but for Basset’s fresh young mind, Abbot was calling forth every spark of magic in his system. Magic that he had stolen. Magic that, by fairy law, was never to be used to mesmerize another fairy.
Basset’s face turned red and his forehead plate cracked.
“You are mine!” repeated Abbot, staring straight into Basset’s captive eyes. “You will never question me again.”